


Neighbours

by orphan_account



Series: 00Q Prompts [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bond knows his medical stuff, Burns, M/M, Neighbours, Swearing, prompts, start of relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from tumblr: "Your OTP are neighbours in an apartment complex who’ve never really talked beyond saying hello. One evening, Person A knocks on Person B’s door; they’ve injured themselves and need to be driven to hospital."</p><p>Or snippets of the lives of two MI6 workers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neighbours

 

1.

                                           

Q closed the door behind him, barely convincing himself to stay upright. It was five in the morning, and he hadn’t slept for two days. If today was Thursday… He wasn’t sure. Days and nights seemed to run together when 007 was out in the field. The mission had been pronounced successful ten hours ago, with Bond safely on a flight back home, but Q had needed to stay behind and analyse the data the agent had gathered. Three reports later and M had shooed him out of the building, forbidding him from logging on at home until he could walk in a straight line. Usually such orders bugged him, but as he stumbled towards his bedroom, containing his cloud of a bed, he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was sleep for at least twelve hours, take a shower, eat, and sleep for six more. His head hit the pillow and his eyes fell shut automatically. Ten seconds later he felt himself drifting off into the peace of his unconsciousness when… a low grunt. A breathy moan. A thud.

“Oh god please, no. Not tonight.”

But as soon as the words left his lips, the rhythmic banging started as his thrice-cursed neighbour screwed another female into his mattress. This happened regularly enough for Q, who was barely at home, to complain about it, and loudly enough that no combination of pillows, music, or ignoring could drown it out. Q didn’t know who his neighbour was, but one of these days he was going to kill him.

 

 

2. 

 

An agent gets three days off every five days spent on a mission. It was protocol and Bond hated it. OK, sometimes he had a cast on, or stitches that really _would_ be pulled if he had to fight someone, but the rest of the time he just felt useless. He lay about his apartment, turning the television on and off, walking to the fridge, the minibar, the balcony, smoking, and generally just getting bored out of his mind. It was about midday when he heard the doorbell for the apartment next door ring. Footsteps echoed along the hallway and the door opened, and shut. Bond didn’t know his neighbours. He’d seen few in the lift or on the stairs, but the apartment was MI6-vetted and that was good enough for him. His only security was the lock on his door, he didn’t need anything else. He didn’t really mind if a petty burglar broke into his house, he almost begged for it sometimes. The fun he could have on an unsuspecting criminal… He turned the radio on, trying to drown out his thoughts.

A couple of hours later he heard gunshots, and jumped to his feet, before he recognised it sounded too tinny, to electronic for it to be real. A whooping laugh from the other side of the wall confirmed that his neighbour and their guest were engaging in some kind of game. Video game, probably. With guns. Amateurs. If only they knew who lived next door.

Bond listened to them for a while, once voice laughing while the other swore.

Then he went for a walk. The liqueur store down the street restocked on Mondays…

 

 

3.

 

Q had just settled down with the new Terry Pratchett book when he heard the sound of breaking glass. He flinched and tucked himself further into his chair. It had been an awful mission. He and 007 had done all they could, but the civilian casualties were off the scale. Q didn’t want to think about the explosions, or the shots, or the broken sound that had come from Bond before the mic cut out. The agent would return, he always did, he just needed some time.

As another glass smashed next door, Q flinched again, before calling his brother, asking if he could stay for the night. His neighbour was welcome to get as drunk as they liked, but Q needed some peace and quiet. Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the door. He opened it and his brother pulled him into a hug, taking his overnight bag from him, glaring at the door down the corridor as more thumping and glass smashing sounded.

“Come on, let’s go.”

 

 

4.

 

Bond woke to the smell of burning metal. He dropped onto the floorboards lightly and crept through his house. The smell wasn’t coming from his kitchen, so he opened the front door and stood in the corridor. It didn’t take long to pinpoint the now-pungent smell coming from the apartment next door. Putting his ear against the door, he could just make out the sounds of metal scraping together gently, like someone was drawing, or soldering, with miniscule tools. Once Bond was sure it wasn’t a bomb and just his wacky neighbour, he went back to bed. He needed to meet Q early tomorrow and get his new micro-earpiece before they sent him off to Indonesia.

 

 

5. 

 

Bond walked into Q-Branch at 0800, just in time to hear his lovely Quartermaster’s posh tones carry across the branch.

“It’s done. I finished it two hours ago. But it’s done!”

“Q, you need to sleep.”

“I will once 007’s on the plane. This was a priority.”

Bond rounded the desks to see Eve leaning on Q’s desk, handing him a cup of steaming tea. Q looked absolutely awful. His normal bird’s-nest hair looked like a cat had been through it, and there were dark smudges underneath his eyes. He had a few small band aids on his fingers too.

“Caught your hand in a door, Q?” Bond said, looking pointedly at the wrapped digits on the desk.

“Just slipped with my soldering iron, 007. Nothing to concern yourself with. Now-” Q launched into an explanation of the new ear-piece and Bond listened dutifully. It wasn’t until he had his equipment and was driving to the airport that he reflected that if Q’s normally steadfast hands had slipped, he really _must_ be exhausted. No wonder Eve seemed concerned. Maybe he could pick something up for him, as a thank you? That’s what work friends did, didn’t they? Looked out for each other? Bond smiled as he pulled up at a traffic light, nodding slightly. He was sure he could find something.

 

 

6.

 

Q dropped the shopping bags and hung his coat up, rolling up the sleeves of his work shirt and undid his tie. It had been a long day. He’d finished work early, so he’d bravely ventured into the shops that Normal People went into regularly.

Although why they’d want to get mixed up in the crowd was a bit beyond him.

He opened the dishwasher, standing back so the steam didn’t fog up his glasses. Doing the groceries was a rare enough event to still be a novelty, but he’d forgotten how awful it was to navigate the Tube with full shopping bags, and was merely thankful he’d gotten home without one of them breaking. He flicked the kettle on and started putting the shopping away.

Milk, fridge.

Pasta, pantry.

Bread, on top of the microwave.

Tomatoes, fridge.

Onions, crap, he’d forgotten onions. Oh well, next time he’d make a list. It’s just that he was distracted by the new prototype that 007 had tried out that morning. A gun with a miniature explosive bullet that did maximum damage, with minimum mess. He’d almost gotten the equation right this time, because if he widened the barrel of the gun by 0.02 of a millimetre, then the explosive compound won’t have to activate until-

The kettle whistled and Q shook himself out of his reverie, turning to get a mug out of the cupboard, forgetting that he’d opened the dishwasher. He banged his shin on the corner and swore as the pain blossomed up his leg, hopping backwards towards the counter. However, he misjudged the distance and hit it early, losing his balance even more. His arm flailed and collected something solid.

The kettle.

Q let go, but wasn’t quick enough. He felt the skin down his forearm blister.

“Shit, mother _fucker_!”

He staggered out of the kitchen, clutching his arm.

“Fucking son of a bitch, that fucking _hurts_!”

He tried to take a deep breath.

“Ok, focus. Help. Need help.”

He reached the door and wrenched it open, fully intending to stop the first person he saw. As he opened his door, he heard the snap of another one close, and he looked down the hall.

His asshole of a neighbour.

It would have to do.

He ran to the door and pounded on it with his fist, tears springing in his eyes.

“Hello?!”

He banged on it again.

“I know you’re there!”

The door opened, and Q could just make out the bulky figure standing in the doorway.

“Sorry to – ah! – bother you, but I’ve managed to – holy fucking crumpets! – burn myself. Help?”

There was a pause and then he was being dragged inside.

“No! No, no, no, hospital, now!”

“What the hell did you do?! I’ve seen Alec come out of explosions looking better.”

Q stopped, before being dragged forward again, by…

“Bond?”

“Hold still.”

The next moment, a bucket of ice and chilled water hit him. Q gasped at the sudden change in temperature. He still couldn’t see where Bond was, the pain and shock clouding his vision, so when he felt calloused fingers undoing his buttons, he jumped back.

“Hold still, I said! I just need to see the rest of the damage. How did this happen?”

“It’s only my arm,” but Q knew better than to fight a double 0 on their home-turf. “And my kettle was closer than I thought it was.”

Once Bond got his shirt off, he circled him quickly before moving away again.

“So this was boiling water?”

“No, it was the actual kettle.”

The tap sounded and Q held still, although his stomach was churning and he could feel himself begin to shake. He slowly moved his good arm up until he could wipe his eyes, finally clearing his vision.

The apartments were set up exactly opposite from each other, which would be expected. Bond was standing over the sink, filling a wine bucket with water. Q watched him, trying to distract himself from the pain, memorising the shape of his jeans, the exact shade of his shirt, how it clung to him…

“OK, sit down.”

He’d never heard Bond’s voice that gentle. He must look terrible if Bond was treating him like he could break.

“Q, come on, over to the table. Now just put your arm into the bucket. Yes, like that. You’re going to have to sit there for fifteen minutes. I have antibiotic cream in the bathroom, and gauze and bandages, and I’ll wrap your arm once it’s dry. It’s only a bad first-degree, so it’ll heal in two or three weeks, but you’ve got to change the dressing and put the cream on every few days. If it gets infected, go to Medical, but you should be alright.”

Bond was walking around as he spoke, and when he returned he set a tube down next to the bucket and wrapped a fluffy throw rug around Q’s bare shoulders.

“When did you last eat?”

“Breakfast?”

“Tea doesn’t count.”

“Well, you try eating when 004 gets arrested in Islamabad for public indecency.”

“I’ll ask about that later. But I’m taking it as a ‘dinner last night’ kind of answer?”

Q glared at him.

“OK, I was about to put some food on anyway.”

“You’ve been my neighbour all this time?”

“Well, it would seem that way.”

“Hm.”

It was only then that he noticed something extra on the table.

“Bond, what’s that?”

Bond looked up and shrugged, entirely too casually.

“I got you a present.”

“Why?”

“Because you work hard to save my life.”

Q picked it up with his good hand, turning it over carefully.

“You got me a mug… With, is that a biscuit holder at the bottom?”

“So you can drink and eat at the same time.”

Q glared at him again. Bond smirked.

“Usually a ‘thank you’ would be expected.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No, Bond. Thank you. I’m sorry I interrupted your evening-”

“By beating on my door and screaming bloody murder? It’s OK, I’ve had worse.”

Q snorted.

“Nice to know I’m being compared to assassins.”

“Hey, I’m an assassin!”

“Point proved. Really Bond, you don’t have to make me dinner. I literally just bought groceries.”

“I want to.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here, but I can head off now. Where’d you put my shirt?” Q stood up, laying the blanket on the back of the chair and looked around, only to be pushed gently back into the chair by a very insistent Bond.

“Q, listen to me. I want to make dinner for you. Would you please do me the pleasure of eating something I’ve cooked for you, in my house? With me?”

“Bond, I-”

But Bond just leant in and brushed his lips to his forehead.

“James, please.”

“James.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So, at the moment I'm just getting random prompts off generic OTP lists on tumblr, as well as the fabulous people in the 00Q facebook group, but if there's any ideas you want to throw at me for these gorgeous boys, please feel free to do so! I love prompts of all different kinds and am willing to have a go at pretty much anything! ;) :D
> 
> Concrit is most definitely welcomed, too!
> 
> Bubbletrix  
> Xxx


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